Page 13

My hand fell off the side of the couch and I startled awake.

It took me a moment to gather myself, but when I did, I heard her.

Her breathing. It was soft and quiet and delicate.

I lay unmoving as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

When they did, the room glowed beneath the warm orb of orange light cast from the streetlamp outside the patio door.

I twisted on the couch and saw her. Amara.

She was curled on her side, snuggled awkwardly into the curve of the cushions with her head on my pillow. Her head was on my pillow.

There was an initial moment of “holy shit” that faded into “she’s beautiful in sleep.

” Amara was beautiful all the time, but there was an alluring softness to the pout of her lips that wasn’t there when she was awake.

Long lashes fanned the pale flesh of her cheeks and her hair was spilled out around her. Again, on my pillow.

So. Fucking. Beautiful.

Slowly, I repositioned myself on the couch so I was facing her. I felt like Spiderman as I stared at her face upside-down. I felt like a super hero, and I wanted to kiss her.

The urge burned through me like wildfire. My gut ached with the denied desire, as I remained still, my face inches from hers. I wouldn’t kiss her, even though I was sure I could. I didn’t want to be another man who took or demanded anything from her that she wasn’t willing or happy to give.

But hell, I wanted her. I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted any other woman, and there had been a few.

Slowly, without conscious thought of what I was doing, I lifted my hand to her small one that rested close to her face on my pillow.

I covered her hand with mine and felt my heart jolt in my chest when her fingers curled around one of mine.

Her eyes didn’t open and I was certain she was still asleep.

I watched her for a long time as I held her hand.

Then I fell asleep, still holding her soft hand in mine.

When I opened my eyes a few hours later, it was to a well-lit room and big blue eyes. It wasn’t me who was being the creeper now. It was Amara. And it was bloody adorable.

I’d caught her staring at me in sleep as I’d studied her in the still dark hours of the morning. I’d caught her and I knew she didn’t know how to respond to her current predicament.

That’s when she blushed—and fuck me, I’d bet my life savings a man never woke to a sight more beautiful.

“Oh—I,” she pushed up on her elbow, tugging on her hand, but I held tight. “Beckett, I just fell asleep.”

And the television turned itself off? My sweet little liar. “It’s fine.”

“Can I have my hand?”

“Don’t think so, beautiful.” I grinned when her big blue eyes widened even more. I never would have thought they could turn any bluer or get any bigger, but right now I was proven wrong. So wrong. “How’d you sleep?”

Her eyes flitted from our hands to my face. She looked undecided for a moment, and then she replied. Her voice was quiet and soft. So unlike my scrappy little kitten that all I wanted to do was pull her across the couch and into my arms.

“Really good. Probably my best sleep since I was thirteen.”

“Sleeping crooked on a couch was your best sleep since you were thirteen?” That churning in my gut was back.

She shook her head, looking unsure. When she’d made the decision to be honest with me, I saw it happen. I saw it happen, and I braced. “Sleeping safe was my best sleep since I was thirteen.”

“You weren’t safe with Raina?” I wasn’t trying to argue her statement. I just wanted to know what was working in her mind. I had to know . . .

Again, she shook her head. “No, I was safe with Raina. We had a few locks on our front door and I had another on my bedroom door,” she paused and I thought about the lock she’d put on the door just down the hall. “I was safe. But I didn’t feel safe.”

“Amara,”

She drew in a deep breath. “Believe me, being safe and feeling safe have a huge impact on how well a person sleeps.”

I had questions. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of questions.

I wanted to know why she had an obsession with locks.

I wanted to know what happened to make her feel she needed a lock on every door she slept behind.

I wanted to know what happened after she turned thirteen that fucked so badly with her head.

I wanted to know it all, but instead I said, “I’d imagine. Happy I could be of service.”

She didn’t smile, but her lips did soften. To my surprise, she let her head drop back onto my pillow with her hand still in mine.

I dropped my head to the pillow beside hers and fought every instinct I had to stare at her the way I wanted. She shifted and I heard her blankets rustle, but she never released my hand.

“Will you talk to me?” Her voice was soft and quiet, almost sleepy. There was a sweetness to it that wasn’t there when the girl was standing, ever armed and defensive. I liked it.

“What about?”

“Anything.”

“Won’t lie; my mind kind of goes blank when I’m asked to talk about anything.”

“What do you like to do with your time when you’re not studying?”

Would you look at that? She’s trying to get to know me.

“I like being outside.”

“You’ve gotta give me more than that,” she protested my reply. “What do you like to do outside?”

I’d give this woman anything she asked for. The thought was a little frightening and the Beckett from a few months ago might even be a little nauseated by it.

“I like to hike, ski, and camp. I’ve always preferred the country to the city. I don’t know where I get that from as my parents are as city as city folk get.”

“Do you ski or snowboard?”

“Ski.” I tipped my head to ask, “You?”

“Ski.”

“Any good?”

“I’m not horrible, but I’m probably not as good as you.” She admitted, and again the pink was back.

I chuckled, “We’ll go. I can teach you whatever you don’t know.”

“Oh, can you now?”

“Definitely.” I confirmed. “I’ve been told I’m a good teacher.”

“Well,” she breathed. “Someone thinks highly of himself.”

“Only a little.”

Another length of silence fell between us. I let my eyes close again, my thumb rubbing absent circles into the soft skin of her palm.

“Your parents don’t enjoy the country?”

“Not unless they’re entertaining in it.”

“How did you develop a passion for hiking, skiing, and camping, if your parents didn’t introduce you to it?”

“I spent almost every year in summer camps just outside the city. Camps with Boy Scouts and other programs. All summer, every summer.”

“And skiing?”

“A love I developed in junior high when I went with the school. I went every chance I got after. When I got my license I went all the time.”

“But you’re still close with your parents? Even though they spent most of your childhood working?”

“We’re close enough. I understand them and what they do. I understand the importance . . .” she shifted her hand, locking her fingers with mine when my words cut short. I repeated, “I understand the importance of what they do.”

“But you were lonely.”

“Sometimes. It could have been worse.”

We both knew the truth of those words were a heavy weight settling on her hardened heart.

“You’re right. It could have been worse. So much worse, but that doesn’t lessen the fact that you were lonely. Being lonely sucks, and I’d know the difference, because you were right. I’m not lonely anymore.”

My eyes opened to the stretch of sun pouring in through the patio doors. It spilled over the stucco of the ceiling, painting it in gold. Still, it wasn’t better than hearing her words. She wasn’t lonely anymore. Because of me. And she was letting me know it.

“You’re not lonely anymore.” I whispered, confirming her words.

She squeezed my hand. “Tell me something else.”

“I can’t wait to be out of school.” She made a noise in her throat, and I crooked my neck to look at her. “I’m serious. I can’t wait.”

“When school is over you’ll just be consumed by work.”

“I’ll be consumed by my chosen career.”

“Work.”

“My choice.”

Twisting onto her belly, she demanded, “Is school not your choice?”

“It’s a requirement for my chosen career.”

“It’s your choice.”

“Fifty percent my choice. I had to agree to school in order to take what I want from life, but I never actually wanted to go to school.”

“Only you could talk your way around school being your choice.”

“I’m talented.”

“At some things.”

I rolled onto my stomach, facing her. She gasped, “At all things I put my mind to.”

Her lips parted and a pink tongue poked out to wet her lips. Her pale cheeks turned a hot rose color and I felt my cock stiffen, thankful I was on my stomach where I could hide my sudden arousal.

“Beckett . . .”

“I want to kiss you, Amara.” I said, watching as her pretty eyes blinked slowly, dazedly. Beautifully.

“I don’t . . .” she licked her lips again. “I want that too, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Holy fuck. She wanted me to kiss her. She wanted it, but what wasn’t a good idea? What about me putting my lips on hers was a bad idea? What, about something so sweet, could possibly be bad? Nothing. That’s damn right. Nothing.

“Amara,” I tipped my head, and she pushed herself back so fast, I thought she was going to fall over the side of the couch. “Shit, babe, slow down.”

She was standing on the other side of the couch, breathing hard. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale, her hands trembling. “I’m s—sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be.” I got slowly up on my knees, never taking my eyes from my skittish little kitten. “Too much too fast. I get it.”

“Right,” she pivoted and dashed for the hall.

I heard the slam of her door before I became aware of my heart pounding with an unfamiliar violence in my chest. A deep breath rushed from my lungs and I let my body fall face first into the couch. Her blanket remained, and as I inhaled, I swore the taste of the woman fused with my next breath.